(Anglo-Saxon poem, ca. 990 CE)
Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.
Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode.
þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt,
þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde;
wæs me wyn to þon, wæs me hwæþre eac lað.
Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas,
murnende mod, nales meteliste.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earmne hwelp
bireð wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs,
uncer giedd geador.
…
Wulf and Eadwacer
(English translation by Edward Moore)
My people are watching him
Waiting to slaughter him
for a sacrifice
Should he come too close to the clan
We are estranged
Wulf is on one isle, I on another
Like a fortress is that fen-wrapped island
Slaughter-cruel men swarm that island
Waiting to slaughter him
for a sacrifice
Should he come too close to the clan
We are estranged
With wild hope my thoughts dogged my Wulf
During rainy weather I sat wailing
Disconsolate
Until battle-strong arms embraced me
Bringing both pleasure and pain
How I pine for you, my Wulf!
Desire has made me sick
It is our meetings I miss, not meals
Do you hear, Eadwacer?
Our wretched whelp is dragged to the woods by a wolf
That one tears apart what was never whole
The tale of the two of us, together
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